


Heaven Sent

by chimaeracabra



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Archangel - Freeform, F/M, OFC - Freeform, Romance, X-Men: Apocalypse - Freeform, X-men - Freeform, X-men Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archangel meets a mysterious woman on the wrong side of the tracks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I went to see X-Men: Apocalypse with my boyfriend on Saturday. I am not huge on the X-Men fandom, so forgive me if there's anything seriously wrong with a character, but I loved Angel from the moment I saw him in some other X-Men movie (I can't remember which one). When I saw him again on Saturday, I was like, "Oooooo. He's so beautiful!" But I actually despise how his character turns out. I won't spoil that for you if you haven't seen it/don't know. I am also dealing with unhappiness within my interpersonal relationships (and kind of have been my whole life), and I wanted to just put those feelings somewhere else, so hopefully I can sleep a little bit better.

                Using the claw tip of his perfect white wing, Angel tallies up his fifteenth win of the day in the wooden floor of the electric cage. The crowd of cheering lunatics gives him an adrenaline rush, despite having experienced it all before. Even after so many wins, he finds himself _still_ basking in the glory of a crowd cheering him on. When the day begins to turn to night, the people gradually disappear. Some feminine voice begging to be let go meets Angel's ears. He descends from where he was perched in a cage, waiting to be let out for the night, looking on with interest as a few goons with guns drag a young woman in his direction. Finally, the woman breaks an arm free, and takes a swing at the man to her left. The one still holding on throws her on the ground so hard that she's knocked unconscious, while the other recovers, clutching an eye, having dropped his gun.

                "Just get the bitch in there. She'll be sorry for that," he says, unlocking the cage. Angel takes a few steps back, not knowing what to expect. They wanted him to fight her? She wouldn't have stood a chance. She looks small enough that he's sure she'd keel over dead if he'd just wack her in the head with his wing. She's thrown into the cage and the door is quickly locked again. One of the men smiles at Angel, who cocks a brow unsurely.

                "There's not going to be a fight," he says, "she's down, and there's no one here to see. Who paid to watch?"

                "No one paid. She's all yours. Do what you want, but make sure there's some life left over in her for tomorrow. You will fight her then."

The men disappear and Angel finds himself left in darkness. His eyes adjust, and he can see that the woman is still breathing. Her deep brown hair curls just to the center of her back, creating an effect of fullness that makes him reach for it. But he pauses. He hadn't been given a woman to fight before. He wonders what's special about her that would make anyone want to watch her fight at all. But clearly, she can throw a punch. The guard she'd nearly taken out could barely open his eye. Instead, Angel decides he just wants to see if she's okay. He'd make up some little display with her and have her play dead the next day, that way, he wouldn't have to actually hurt her.

                "Hey…" he turns her over slowly with the tip of his left wing, not really wanting to make close contact, lest she jump up and sock him one like she did the guard. When he's got her turned onto her back, her eyes slowly flutter open. Angel stares with heated cheeks a moment; this woman looks like she must have just come from a night of clubbing. Her waist-hugging skirt is shifted up a pair of smooth-looking legs, which are more than halfway occluded by a pair of black, thigh-high boots. Her satin blouse gives him a complete view of her arms and most of her chest, the middle of a red bra popping out slightly. She groans.

                _Am I…dead? In heaven?_ Annette's vision is blurry at first, but even in the dark, she can easily make out a pair of white wings. The face that is gradually becoming clearer appears to be somewhat confused. She starts and with that, he flaps back. She sits up, weakly, uneasily, until she's standing.

                "Is this…heaven? Why is it so goddamn dark?"

Angel laughs genuinely. Taking in her surroundings, Annette is quick to realize that she's a far cry from heaven. She's in a cage. Rushing for the door in a panic is the first thing she does. When the cold metal electrocutes her, she finds herself on the floor all over again.

                "Be careful," he says, a lot more concern in his voice than he'd initially intended. In a moment, she stops writhing on the floor.

                "Where the fuck—?"

                "Did you _really_ think it would be that easy to escape? The cage is electric, sweetheart," he says sardonically.

                "Stay the fuck away from me. Who the fuck are you?" she asks, still reeling from the electricity. She stands on two feet and actually takes in the site of what appears to be an angel. His leather jacket makes him look more devilish than godly. He sighs and tips into his mouth an almost empty bottle of what appears to be Vodka.

                "Honey, I'm sorry, I don't know why they thought it would be a good idea to bring you here, but you're going to have to fight me to the death tomorrow. And I hate to break it to you…but I always win."

                There's silence on her end for a moment. And then she breaks out laughing.

                "I'm not fucking around," he spits. She calms down.

                "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I'm going to find a way out of this mess," she says, looking around.

                "What's your name?" he asks.

                "It's none of your fucking business."

                "Hey, I really don't want to fight you, either. My mother taught me not to hit girls. Why don't we just fake it, I knock you out, and you leave here in one piece?"

Annette ignores him, trying to figure out where the weak points in her new prison might be hiding. She has no idea how she hadn't foreseen any of this.

                "There's no way out. I've been here long enough to know. It's gotten to the point where I'm so good I can't stop. It's sort of…an addiction, I guess." He realizes that Annette isn't listening. After a moment, she begins pacing back and forth, shaking her hands, talking to herself.

                "Okay—fine! What the hell do you want me to do? I just need to get out of here. I can't believe she did this to me. When I find her, I'll fucking…" she grunts angrily, sitting on the floor of the cage. Angel takes a few steps closer to her.

                "Just like I said, we can fake it, you go down, you get out."

                "I can't believe this."

                "Hey," he says. She seems unable to acknowledge him in her anger.

He rolls his eyes, walks right up and stands in front of her. At that point, her guard is up. She stands.

                "Don't touch me," she warns, but he can see the nervousness rolling through every bone in her body. He smirks, looking her up and down.

                "I told you, my mom taught me not to hit girls. Besides, do you really think I'd try anything after I saw you cold clock that guy?"

Her heart rate slows down a bit.

                "But they… _did_ say you were all mine and I could do what I want," he says, greedily scanning her figure. Annette rushes to the other side of the cage.

                "You'll be sorry if you try anything stupid," she spits, but the fear is present. He kicks his empty liquor bottle with boredom and sighs.

                "I thought angels had wings. You're…"

                "What? Badass?" he says, sounding full of himself.

Annette scoffs.

                "Look, sweetheart, why don't you tell me how you even _got_ yourself in this fucking place? We're going to be here a while," he says, "I'm Angel, by the way," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

                "Well, that's original…Annette," she says, crossing her arms.

                "So, what's the story?" he asks when she falls silent.

                "Angry ex? You fuck someone over—?"

                "My _sister_ ," she says through gritted teeth.

                "Family?"

                "She's not going to _be_ family when I get out of here," Annette explains. She screams skywards for a moment. Angel is startled only momentarily.

                "What?"

Annette sighs, "I' guessing she got paid for this. She doesn't give a shit about anything but money. They probably think that I _am_ her. But I'm not! She's telekinetic. I'm sure that would've made for an interesting fight."

                "Why would they think you're your sister?"

                "Well, it's easy for shit like that to happen when you're twins," Annette says, pointing to her face.

                "So…I'm guessing you have some kind of powers, too? Or did she get blessed that way and you were born with jack shit?"

                "I can see the future, but I never fucking saw this coming."

Angel frowns a moment, wondering just how betrayed this woman must be feeling right about now.

                "Well," he sighs, "Those guards assume I'm doing whatever I want with you right now, so I don't think they'll be back until later."

Annette shudders. When he starts coming closer, she warns him again. He pauses, laughing.

                "We gotta practice. Make it look real. Let's do a little sequence, then when you get out of here, you never have to see me again."

                "Don't touch me," Annette warns. She gasps when he grabs her by the waist.

                "I'm going to have to do a lot more than that, sweety. So let's just get it over wi—"

It takes a moment to register that she'd punched him square in the nose until he feels a bit of blood dribble out. He wipes it on the back of his hand, sniffling.

                "Alright, there you go," he says, fronting like he's not in any pain. Annette has assumed a stance that tells him she means business. And the next thing she knows, they're throwing punches at each other. He never hits her hard, shielding his motions with those giant wings. If no one can really see, he wouldn't have to touch her at all. She almost feels badly for having punched him in his pretty face, but he seemed not to be fazed by it at all. In fact, he smiles every time he dodges her fist or foot. She kicks him in the chest a bit less lightly than what's just meant for show. He grabs her booted ankle with a grunt, his eyes pinching shut a moment. Annette is left balancing on one foot when she apologizes unsurely.

                "S-sorry."

He looks at her, smirks in this annoying way, and pushes her back. She crashes against the cold floor and feels this gust of wind before he lands straddling her, pinning her hands to the floor. He quickly circles her throat with both hands and she gasps, calming when she doesn't feel him apply lethal pressure.

                "And I'll just choke you out like so…well, start struggling and closing your eyes," he says somewhat impatiently. Annette acts it out well enough.

                "Good," he says. She doesn't bother to open her eyes. Instead, she takes a deep breath, gasping again when she feels a breeze. She looks up to find him sitting further up in the cage, out of reach.

 


	2. Chapter 2

            The sound of men whistling suggestively irritates Annette. Angel had stayed at the top of the cage all night, and she had barely slept, having  woken up to the sensation of a water bottle hitting her in the arm. Another _whoosh_ alerts her to the fact that the man she's about to fake fight is ready to go. He makes a grandiose landing, fluttering his white wings and puffing out his chest with a bravado that makes her want to punch him in the face again. She rolls her eyes, zipping her boots on once more. She listens to an announcer introducing her as "Sexy bitch" and her blood begins to boil, despite how sleepy she is.

            Annette's vision is occluded momentarily as a pair of white wings circle her. They are so large, no one can see Angel's face just inches away from hers.

            "Like we practiced, alright?" he says, grinning, "You go down, you go out."

She shrugs.

            "Yeah. Just hurry up," she mutters, her eyes scurrying away nervously. In the dark hours before, she couldn't see the depth of his icy eyes. The wings peel back, and he grabs her head in both hands, kissing her out of the blue. Annette gasps and slaps at his chest, pulling her head back, all the whistling and howling filling her ears. She punches him in the face, and he turns away in the direction her fist had swung. His nose is bleeding when he turns to look at her. The scenario becomes very real then, and she wakes all the way up.

            Angel grins, wiping the red fluid off his nose. He raises his right wing into the air, and Annette's vision follows it, the distraction she'd been anticipating. She throws herself to the side willingly with the sensation of Angel's knuckles, light against her cheek. Pulling herself back up, she loses it, the sight of so many guns making her more nervous than she'd thought she'd be. She pulls Angel's wing, causing him to lose balance for a moment. She swings herself around him, clambering onto his back. The wings beginning to beat force her off him. She lands on the floor harder than she thought he should have thrown her.

            Angel waltzes around the cage in victory, waiting for Annette to recover. She catches his eye from where she's lying on the floor, and for a moment, the look on his face is asking her what the fuck she's doing. She'd botched their whole fake sequence. Panicking, she's convinced that the only way she'll make it out alive is if she can knock _him_ out instead. She gets up, runs at full speed, jumps into the air, and kicks Angel with both feet square in the chest. He nearly falls against the cage's electric walls, but steadies himself by fanning his wings back.

            "Are you serious, now?" he asks, cocking a brow.

            "I don't trust you!" she growls, readying herself for his next blow.

He mouths the words, "I'm trying to help you!" but she heeds them not. She runs at him, ready to punch, but he shoots up into the air, and she loses sight of him. All she feels is her body being pulled and hitting her head at the back before all goes black…

 

            The sun is too bright outside. Someone with very muscular arms is carrying her towards a van in an alley. For a moment, Annette can't tell up from down. When she recognizes the face of the guard she'd slugged the night prior, she reaches up and pokes him in both eyes with her thumbs. Immediately, he drops her, and she seizes the opportunity to take off running. She just runs like crazy for a handful of minutes, not wanting to think about where she would have gone, had she not regained consciousness soon enough. Slowing to a stop outside a café, Annette strains to catch her breath. The panicky feeling has yet to subside.

            When she realizes that she doesn't have her phone or purse, she begins to wonder what the hell to do next. Luckily, she'd kept a few dollars in the small, hidden pocket of her skirt. She buys herself a sandwich and a drink, laying low in the café, deciding it best to stay until the sun goes down. When she can't stand sitting there doing nothing much longer, she takes off. She wonders then just how safe it would be to try and go back to her apartment. When she was kidnapped, she was in a club in the city. But for all she knew, these people, whoever they were, had been following her. She mulls it over, walking down different blocks. Her feet begin to hurt, and she glances down at the sexy boots she'd been in for far too long.

            The sun is just beginning to set. Her head finally starts aching. That bastard was no angel, as far as Annette concerns herself. Did he have any idea what was really going to happen to her after she lost their little fight? She doesn't think so. Simply wanting to get out of those uncomfortable shoes, Annette starts down her street, sighing a sigh of relief. She's only several houses away from her building when the sound of tires screeching down the street meets her ears. She stops dead in her tracks, a black van speeding to a stop. She can tell by the looks of it that it's bad news. Her heart rate increases, and she wonders _again_ how she hadn't seen this coming. In the same moment that a man pulls the van's sliding door back and points a gun in her direction, Annette is consumed by a vision. All she can see now is a set of white wings. The tone of the vision is rather sensual, the sensation of lips on her neck causing her to shiver. She's almost certain for a handful of seconds that she's glimpsing the events of earlier that day in the cage, but she knows that it can't be; he'd kissed her on the lips that time…

            She finds herself ducking behind a car when the vision ends. _Could I theoretically make it to my house and inside before I get shot?!?_ She braces herself.

            "There's nowhere to hide now, you stupid bitch!" These people mean business. She can tell by the sound of another gun cocking that she's probably finished. Wishing, like she has most of her life, that she had an active power instead, Annette curses to herself. And then gunshots meet her ears and the suddenness alone nearly kills her. A gun lands in her field of vision, a few feet away on the sidewalk. She glances skywards slowly in time to watch the same man she'd punched in the face and poked in the eyes, falling from at least ten or fifteen feet. His scream is music to her ears, but she winces when a shower of glass begins to fall all over her; he'd landed atop the car she'd taken cover near.

            There are more gunshots, and Annette finally spots him, a devil with angel's wings, carrying another henchman by the ankle, leading him to the roof of one of the houses, and dropping him there. He maneuvers to the left and right as someone else attempts to shoot him down. He flies in a tantalizing zigzag pattern until the man is out of ammo. He then descends like a hawk, and Annette stands to watch yet another man be carried sky high and thrown somewhere into the backyard of one of her neighbors. She looks up to the sky in slight amusement. Angel's words are somewhat inaudible to her as he flaps towards her, but when she hears a bullet whiz past her ear, she screams, throwing her hands over her head.

            "Hold on!" Annette hasn't even opened her eyes before she feels two hands grip her arms. The next thing she knows, her feet aren’t on the ground anymore. Sure that she will pass out if she looks down, Annette keeps her eyes closed. She fears that her shoe will fall off at any moment, but relaxes a little bit, realizing that if Angel had wanted to drop her, he would have by now. The breeze begins to make Annette chilly. She's silent, wondering what's going through his head. She feels him stop somewhere, hovering. He begins to descend, and Annette opens her eyes, shivering beyond control now, as Angel places her gingerly atop the roof of some building. He had flown for at least ten minutes.

            Her knees wobble and she lands on them, sure she might puke. Angel gives her some space, looking on with widened eyes. Annette sits down, pulling her knees to her chest, still shivering. Angel starts towards her. She spots a rock on the roof and picks it up.

            "Stay the fuck away from me," she warns. He pauses, raising both hands as if to surrender.

            "I just saved your life," he says calmly.

            "Yeah—and I bet you want something in return," she says angrily, trying to shake from her thoughts the strange premonition she'd had just moments before Angel showed up. It's almost as if he was _meant_ to be there. She tries for a moment to picture where things had taken place in her vision. There were only bits and pieces, a bed, four walls, but they weren't that of her apartment.

            "Why would I save your life, then try to hurt you?" Angel asks rhetorically. He cocks a blonde eyebrow and she begins to calm down. She realizes that even if she threw it, his dodge game was strong; he managed not to get shot just minutes earlier while flying around in the air. Annette shivers, speechless, rubbing her arms. The fact that they'd landed on some roof, high up in the sky, only makes the wind worse. All she wants to do is disappear now, somewhere safe. But she doesn't even know where the hell that might be. Her eyes flit back and forth with rapid thoughts. She doesn't notice Angel getting closer until he starts taking his leather jack et off. To her, it makes him look like some kind of greaser, hair gel not included.

            "If you promise not to punch me in the face," he starts, pausing about a foot away from her, maneuvering those large wings through some slits in the back that accommodated them. Something about this makes Annette begin to smile. She wipes the look off her face instantly, recalling the vision she'd had on the ground. He hands her the leather jacket.

            "Th-thanks," she says, and he sits beside her slowly, folding his wings so that they don't make contact with her. He sighs and closes his eyes, lifting his chiseled face skywards. The two of them are quiet for about a minute. Annette glances at Angel's face. With the sun almost gone, she is reminded of a gargoyle on the roof of a church—not that this guy is ugly by any means. Then she stands up and starts for a door not far in the distance.

            "Hey," he calls, hearing her stalk away. Annette makes it to the door, but upon pushing it, realizes that it's locked.

            "Where the hell are you going?" he asks. She turns around, leaning dejectedly against the door.

            "I don't know—out of town. Whoever these people are, I _realize_ they don't want me spreading word about their little underground fight club."

Angel saunters closer.

            "You're right."

            "…So did you know that one of those guys was going to fucking take me away to God knows where as soon as I lost, or…?"

            "Actually, I didn't really think about it until later. You caught me off guard. Sorry for _actually_ knocking you out. But I couldn't lose," he explains. His apparent arrogance begins to agitate Annette.

            "You're full of shit," she says. This makes him smile.

            "I need to find my sister and…"

            "And what? If she had you targeted for that ring, what makes you think that people aren't looking for her _too_?"

            "That's why I should find her," Annette says, worry replacing the anger that had been there before.

            "Well, since you don't seem to be able to move things with your mind, I'd say you have a pretty low chance at defending her—or yourself—"

            "I realized that! Stop telling me things I already fucking know! I don't need to be reminded about the things that she can do that I can't."

            "…Fuck, I'm only trying to help you," Angel explains with some impatience, crossing his arms.

            "I need a phone," she says absently, searching the pockets of the leather jacket. She pulls out Angel's phone and starts to dial away. He just watches with interest.

            " _Pick…up_ …" Annette mutters, beginning to worry.

            "Hey, you've reached Anastasia, you know what to do after the beep."

Annette sighs.

            "If you're not already dead, Stasia, I'm going to kill you myself. We're in danger, _again_! I can't go to my apartment right now— _that's_ how bad. As soon as you get this you need to call me back! And I lost my phone, so you're gonna have to dial this number, okay?!" With tears in her eyes, Annette ends the call. Her expression is still angry, but Angel can tell she's properly worried.

            "Hey…I'm sure your sister's fine—"

            "Don't touch me," Annette snaps, drawing her shoulder back, away from Angel's hand. She merely stares at it. He shoves it into his pocket.

            "You can stay with me, if you want," he says, "I mean, no one's going to be looking for you if you're with me. It's the last place they'll expect."

            "I don't even know you. And I don't trust you."

            "Fine," Angel says, turning his back on her and starting to take off.

            "Wait!"

Annette doesn't get the chance to see him smile before he turns to face her.

            "So, you need me now, don't you?"

            "You're cocky as fuck, _Gabriel_. Just help me _not_ get killed and shut up."

He can already tell that this girl is just his type.

            "It's Warren, by the way," he says, wondering how Annette thought that he would _actually_ leave her there on a rooftop, locked out of a building. She nods, looking away and rubbing her arms, as if trying to calm herself.

            "Look, it's much warmer at my place. You can hide out there until we find your sister."

Annette nods again, not looking at him. He can tell by looking at her that her head is racing with thoughts.

            "Hey, she's telekinetic, right? I'm sure she's fine. There's no way anybody's going to get near her like they managed to get near you." His words are reassuring, but she's still unsure. Annette realizes that she's going to have to trust this complete stranger. There's just no way around it.

            "Okay," she says.

            "Okay," he echoes. When he reaches down around the back of her knees and starts to pick her up, Annette slaps him in the chest. He sighs with impatience.

            "We can't stay up here all night. It's at least another five-minute flight to my place," he explains, stepping towards Annette all the while she steps back. He smirks that annoying smirk again, and she fights the urge to spit in his face.

            " _Flight_?" she says.

            "How did you think we were getting off this roof, a train?" He continues to grin.

            "Just give me a _minute_ — _please_. I almost lost my breakfast on the way here," she explains nervously. Warren stops closing in on her. He eyes her. She looks badass in his leather jacket. He can't help liking the fact that this girl has no one to rely on but him at this very moment. Warren whistles absently, stalking over to the ledge of the building and glancing over it. As a child, he used to get scared at heights, but now they only excite him.

            "Can you stop that? …It's annoying," Annette says calmly. He stops whistling, and glances back at her where she's starting towards him slowly.

            "Okay, I'm ready," she says. Her eyes are closed, and he can't help but laugh as he picks her up bridal style.

            "Please…don't drop me," she says breathlessly. The sensation of her gripping around his neck makes Warren blush. He glances at her face, the eyes still closed. Her other hand grips his shirt tightly.

            "Just don't look," he says calmingly, "If you're scared."

Heights had never been Annette's thing. She tries to enter her happy place as the feeling of weightlessness consumes her once more, the wind howling in her ear. She tries to distract herself by counting the minutes that pass. She feels like a popsicle by the time Warren lands on the roof of another building. He steadies her in place, but she keeps her eyes closed. The sensation of him feeling around in his jacket pocket while she's still in it makes Annette turn around. She feels his hand travel up her rib a bit and prepares herself to slap him when he pulls it away with a key.

            "Come on," he says, starting towards the door. This one is open, and she realizes he probably uses it frequently. He stands in the doorway, waiting for her. Again, she tries to rid her mind of the vision she'd had earlier. Not only were heights not her thing, but neither were one night stands. She follows, not having any other choice. He lives on the top floor in this building. It's surprisingly nice when she enters Warren's apartment. For some reason, she didn't expect it to be. He closes and locks the door behind himself.

            "Are you…are you rich?" she asks. He laughs.

            "Want a drink?" he asks, starting towards the kitchen.

            "You _need_ a drink," he says to himself, laughing. What a douchebag. Hurrying after him, Annette takes a seat at the counter and watches him pick a bottle, seeming so out of place with those massive wings.

            "You can relax now, Annette," he says.

            "No, I can't. Not until I find my sister."

He shrugs, placing a drink in front of her in a neat glass before tipping the entire bottle to his lips.

            "Well, I'm done for the day," he says.

            "Hitting the shower."

Annette watches him walk down the hall, kicking his shoes off in the process. When he starts to pull his shirt off, fitting each wing through the holes, her heart skips a beat. He must have been following her, right? Or at least found out where she lived. He looked like an angel, but how was she to really trust that he wasn't also dangerous. The only thing that comforts her now is the fact that she'd had that premonition. It had to be some kind of good omen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done!

  
                Annette makes herself comfortable with a bottle of water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich she made in the kitchen, sitting on a couch, staring out the window. Every few minutes or so, she looks for her phone, forgetting she doesn't even have it. She sighs, worrying about Anastasia. She worries herself into oblivion, as usual. Stasia could have found a better way to let Annette know she still had a problem with her dating her ex, if that's what this was about. It shouldn't have made her _so_ angry that she'd send mutant bounty hunters to take her sister away. Figuring that this is exactly what happened, Annette sighs. She lies back, beyond exhausted. She hasn’t really slept since waking up in that cage. At some point, she manages to doze off, stirring briefly when she hears someone walking about. She sits up so fast, she nearly falls off the couch. Her sudden motion apparently surprised Warren, who nearly drops the blanket he's carrying.

                "What's that?" she asks, looking around, forgetting for a moment where the hell she is.

                "It's called a blanket," Warren says sarcastically, blinking unsurely at her. He keeps his distance, and there's an awkward silence between them. She realizes he's topless. In her honest opinion, he looks just as beautiful as the wings on his back. She ponders the vision she'd had earlier, no longer wanting to meet his gaze as the shyness intensifies.

                "Look, I'm not a _complete_ asshole. I just changed my sheets and I was going to let you have my bed. I'll take the couch. You can even shower if you want, if that helps at all," he says. Annette's cheeks flare up. She knows that the makeup she hadn’t managed to completely rinse off her face at the café she hid in earlier is probably smeared across her forehead.

                "Well, shit, say something," Warren begs. For a moment, she swears that he's genuinely concerned for her wellbeing.

                "I'll take your bed," she says softly, standing up and starting towards the hall. She thanks him even more timidly, making her way.

                "To the left," he calls.

It appeared that Warren had already set everything up for her; the bed is neatly made, towels are laid out in the bathroom, even an unopened bar of soap and a bottle of mouthwash. She begins not to feel so guarded about him. He'd helped her this far, hadn't he? … _But he's still a prick_ , she reminds herself. That's just the way that guys—especially with his attitude—always turned out to be. Annette strips, leaving her clothes right on the floor. The heat of the shower soothes her. She'd gotten bruised a bit in the cage fight. It felt good to have the pain abated for a while. When she steps out and wraps herself in a towel, it almost feels like she's in the comfort of her own home. Upon gathering her clothes, she realizes that she doesn't have anything to wear.

                She steps out into the hall cautiously, making her way to the bedroom. She can hear faintly the TV nearby. Conveniently, there's a big t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that she knows will be a bit too big for her, sitting on the bed. It almost seems as though Warren would rather not interact with her at all. Aside from making sure that she had what she needed, he had so quickly vanished from her shortly after letting her into his apartment. Annette sits on the bedspread, picking up a small note left there that looks like it was made on a torn piece of mail. _Clean_ it reads in damn near illegible chicken scratch. Warren had left the clothes there at some point between her getting in and getting out of the shower.

                Regardless, she closes the door and locks it, changing into the clothes before diving into a white quilt that offers far more comfort than she'd experienced in the past twenty-four hours…she hates dream visions the most. They feel prolonged, harder to pull out of, something she has never been able to completely control about her powers. It feels like a vision and looks like one, but is more like a sex dream instead. All she can see is dick and wings, and the two sum up to equal one person. Awaking in some state of arousal, her heart pounding, Annette is thankful to be alone. She shakes her head repeatedly, staring over at the door. It’s still closed. Warren had obviously not tried to get in. The lamp is still on like she'd left it. She stays sitting in bed, almost afraid to go back to sleep.

                Warren can't explain it to himself. He obviously thinks the girl is beautiful, but there's something _more_ to it than that. Maybe he feels badly for her. Someone tried to sell her out as a mutant? Bad shit happened to people like them by being in the wrong places at the wrong time. He wonders what exactly she did that would make family—of all people—want to screw her over like they did. Still sitting on the floor outside of his locked bedroom door, he wonders why. He doesn't _have_ to help her. He just wants to sleep with her? Ultimately, Warren is unsure of himself. Realizing this for the first time, he manages to pluck one of his feathers in frustration. He winces audibly, staring at the white quill as it floats to the floor beside him. He sighs. _You're going to wake her up, asshole. What's she gonna think if she opens the door and finds you sitting here like a watch dog?_

                He hadn't tried to open the door. After getting bored in front of the TV by himself, he'd gone to check on her and found the door closed. So he just sat there on the other side on the floor, picturing how she might be sleeping in his clothes. The thought turns him on at first, but he can't help feeling like it's an inappropriate reaction to have in the current situation. His ears perk up. He hears something on the other side of the door. Preparing himself to get away, he stands, but pauses. It sounds like she's breathing. Breathing a lot…choppy breathing. After a moment of nearly sticking his ear to the door, Warren can tell that the girl inside is crying.

                He walks slowly and silently back down the hall, perverse thoughts ebbing. He can’t think about her body while knowing she was crying in his bed. He picks up the plate and glass she'd used and brings it to the kitchen, throwing everything in the dishwasher, which is only half full; it never got full with him being the only one there, hardly using the dishes. He sighs. He manages to fall asleep, hoping that Annette will still be there in the morning, unlike most of the women he brings home.

                Annette finishes wiping her nose on the towel she'd dropped on the bed earlier. She and Anastasia had never really gotten along, not truly. She doesn't remember there not being an unspoken competition between them about _everything_. Everything; who's smarter, prettier, more successful, you name it. Her feelings are split equally between rage and worry. Maybe, when she finds Stasia, she'll ask Warren to fly them away, somewhere nobody can hurt them, or find them, or try to pit them against each other. Then, maybe everything would be okay. After spending a few more minutes of deep breathing, centering herself again, Annette decides to rinse the snot out of her nose. She hated crying; it never fixed anything. But feeling like there's some kind of weight off her shoulders, she makes for the door.

                She doesn't miss the feather on the floor on her way out. She decides to leave it there, after staring at it a moment. She rinses her face in the bathroom, needing to delve back into slumber. On her way to Warren's bed, she picks up the feather. A sheer curiosity leads her to sit up in bed with it, after locking the door again. It reminds her of a swan, and for a few seconds, she reminisces her childhood, the swan boats her father would take her and Anastasia to during hot summers. Everything was beautiful and carefree, for a while. This new comfort had simply resulted from one of Warren's feathers falling on the floor. She stares at it until sleep takes hold yet again.

 

                The sound of a phone vibrating wakes Annette. She sits up, once again, forgetting where she is for a moment. She stares around the room, until she spots Warren's leather jacket sitting on the dresser. She hurries out of bed to pick it up. Recognizing Anastasia's number, she picks it up.

                "When I see you, I'm going to kill you."

                "…Good morning to you, too."

Annette scoffs and Anastasia continues,               "Look, before you go off—"

                "Before _I_ go off?! I was nearly killed yesterday, Stasia!"

                "Listen to me—"

                "No, you listen to _me_. You have no idea what you've gotten me into—what you've gotten _us_ into—"

                "Shut up and listen to me!"

                "You know something, _you're_ not always right, and I'm not always wrong!"

                "It was a mistake!"

The way that Anastasia's voice breaks is proof enough that she regrets what she's done.

                "I…pretended to be you. And things got out of control before I could stop them."

                "What the fuck are you talking about?"

                "My boss. I thought I could help her out a little bit, you know? So I did some dirty business to get stock market information that we wouldn't have gotten otherwise—"             

                "Ana—"

                "Just hear me out! …it got out of control. I just told her that I was clairvoyant—"

                "Which you _aren't_ —"

                " _And_ I ended up talking about my powers, but I pretended that they were _yours_ , and then there was this whole misunderstanding…do you have any idea how much money those underground fight rings bring in?" Somewhere in the middle of Anastasia's explanation, Annette stops listening. Her sister sold her out for her career? In what way was that forgivable? And why would she even pretend to have Annette's abilities? She was always bragging about her own.

                "Hello? Annette..?"

Annette had gravitated back to the bed and sat down.

                "As much as I hate you right now and want to kill you…I have to warn you that you're probably in as much danger as I am. These people that tried to kill me are probably already searching for you—"

                "Annette, I'm _sorry_ —"

                "Meet me downtown at the bus station in an hour."

With that, Annette hangs up the phone. There's a knock on the door that causes her to start. She opens it to find Warren standing there, wide-eyed.

                "What was all that yelling for?"

Immediately, she turns away from him, starting for her clothes where she'd folded them and left them on the dresser.

                "I have to go. My sister will be fine."

                "What?" Warren asks. The way he says this sounds like he just can't believe it. She starts for the bathroom to take off the sweatpants and get back into her skirt and boots. Warren follows her, standing in the doorway.

                "So, that's it?"

                "Yeah. She called back. She's already on her way to meet me in a few hours."

She begins to close the door when Warren asks another question.

                "So, what exactly happened?"

Annette sighs.

                "It doesn't matter. I just need to get out of here."

This time, he physically holds the door open.

                "If your own sister tried to sell you into cage fighting, what makes you think she's not still trying to pull the wool over your eyes?" He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

                "Do you know my sister?" she asks. For a second, Warren can't tell whether Annette is being serious or sarcastic.

                "No," he says, somewhat unsurely, glancing to the side.

                "Then you don't understand. I'll be fine. I have to go." She closes the door, leaving him with his mouth hanging open on words she won't hear. Warren runs a hand down his chest. He'd felt badly about leaving Annette to uncertainty before, which is why he bothered to go and find her in the first place. No, he didn't know her sister, but he knew that Annette had good reason not to trust her. He makes it into his room, pulling the closet door open and retrieving a new t-shirt. The red, formfitting item highlighted his muscles, something he meant to wear on purpose. If Annette would just think about how vulnerable she is, maybe she'd let him help her.

                When she walks back in with his shirt still on and the rest of her outfit from when he met her for the first time, he can't help but grin. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail after leaving his pants on the bed. He realizes, with some irritation, that she hasn't looked at him once since walking into his room.

                "Look, thanks for your help, Gabriel," she says semi-sarcastically, "but I think I'm going to just get my sister and get out of town."

                "And how is it that you even know where you're going? You had your eyes closed on the entire way over here, remember?"

Annette blushes, pausing at the door and glancing at Warren. He never seems to be able to wipe the smirk off his face!

                "Shit," she says, just below her breath.

 

                "I promise I won't drop you. Did you fall on the way here?" he asks. The breeze on the roof makes Annette shiver.

                "Why can't we just go downstairs and take a cab?"

                "That would be a waste of time. I'm _telling_ you, _I_ can get there faster in the air."

Annette sighs, eying the door behind her, and taking a few more steps towards Warren.

                "I won't drop you," he says for the umpteenth time, "And if I _do_ , I'll catch you. We've gone at each other before. I'm sure you realize how fast my reflexes are," he says, crossing his arms. She realizes again how arrogant he is.

                "Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to help me? Isn't your job just to win fights? You don't have to help me anymore."

                "You don't know those people like I do. They've killed anyone who wouldn't fight—right in front of me. Don't think just because we're special that they can't."

She eyes the door again.

                "Come on. After this, I promise I'll leave you alone."

Standing there a moment, Annette finally steps closer.

                "Just…keep your eyes closed, if you're scared," he says, all while closing the distance between them. She keeps her eyes on him. He picks her up, like before. And as he walks towards the rooftop's ledge, her heart starts racing. He looks like he can't wait to take off. He doesn't even fall over the edge, but takes off, his feet leaving the ground. She clings to him, scared shitless.

 

                Finding a way to land without drawing attention meant more rooftops. Annette had closed her eyes shortly after Warren took off the roof of his apartment building. Feeling like she might go into cardiac arrest, she's unable to stand momentarily. It feels like he flew faster that time. She realizes how right he was.

                "Hey…" She feels his presence when he kneels at her side. It isn't until he holds her face in both hands that she really notices him. Now she looks. He smiles, genuinely. There's nothing arrogant about it this time. She pulls her face back slowly, standing up.

                "Th-thank you," she stammers, straightening her skirt. He doesn't follow, but only watches her make her way for the doors. He can't help wondering about her. He would follow from a distance. When Annette makes it down to the buses, she waits. Anastasia never seemed to care about other people's time. She made you wait. In what feels like fifteen minutes, Annette hears her name. She turns to find Anastasia, looking guilty as sin, making her way towards her.

                "I hate you."

                "Things could have been worse."

                "Worse? What is _worse_ than almost dying?" Annette asks through gritted teeth. Anastasia holds open the bag she's carrying. Wads of cash meet Annette's eyes.

                "I say we just take it and skip town. You know, get away from all of this."

                "You're crazy. There's no amount of money worth dying for."

                Anastasia sighs impatiently, "I'm sorry, okay? But you're alive now, so get over it and lets go."

Annette fights the urge to slap her sister. A few seconds before it actually happens, Annette enters another vision in which she spots someone with a gun, aiming it Anastasia's way. She pushes her to the ground, hard, the suitcase full of cash landing on a set of tracks where the next train would be coming any moment. Someone running up to grab the suitcase catches Anastasia's eye. With the flick of a wrist, she sends him flying at full speed into the gunman who had tried to take her out only seconds earlier. He manages to drop the suitcase a little bit further. Not wanting to draw more attention, if they hadn't already been seen, Anastasia makes a mad dash for the suitcase. She screams as a bullet pierces right through the case, smashing some glass on a schedule board not far from Annette's head. By now, people are quickly running away.

                As if it were some kind of cue, Warren swoops down out of what seems like nowhere, grabbing the man who's shooting and carrying him towards the oncoming train.

                "Get the fuck out of the way!" Annette screams, Anastasia still in shock and clutching her ears on the tracks, having dropped the suitcase. Annette's focus is torn between her sister standing on the tracks and Warren continuing to fly one of the annoying henchmen towards the train. Another _bang_ alerts Annette to the fact that there are more people with guns hanging around. This was obviously an ambush. She realizes that they probably just want the money Anastasia had brought with her. Annette runs for the tracks, grabbing Anastasia's arm. The train that's coming starts to honk an uncomfortably loud horn, and Anastasia turns around, running back to the platform. She scans the scene, spotting the other shooter, and disarming him telekinetically from several feet away, drawing the gun right into her own hands. She shoots, and the train narrowly intercepts the bullet, but knowing she'd made a hit, she sighs with relief. Torn green paper litters the tracks. There goes the money.

                "Look what you made me do!"

                "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Anastasia asks in absolute disbelief. Before the twins can further argue, they are interrupted by the sound of someone screaming bloody murder. They look to find Warren carrying the first shooter to the ground, dropping him from at least six feet up.

                "And tell your boss that if he keeps chasing these girls, he'll start losing a lot more than a couple hundred grand," Warren states, landing and kicking the man in the ribs. His scare tactics had been enough to send the imbecile running away in fear.

                " _Hundred grand_?! _A couple hundred grand_?!" Annette's mouth hangs open. Anastasia crosses her arms, glaring.

                "You can't spend pieces of torn up dollar bills. Thanks a lot," she says, looking on at the tracks where the train had passed.

                "Is that really _all_ you care about?"

                "I was going to split it with you!"

                "You know something, I don't even…whatever. Maybe I never should have even come to save your ass."

Anastasia sighs, sitting on a bench nearby, and gazing longingly at all the destroyed money in front of her.

                "Who the fuck is this guy?" she asks without even looking at Warren. Warren glances from sister to sister, unsure of what to say, almost worried that he'll get slapped if he says anything at all.

                "Glad to see you're done with my ex. I hate blondes." Anastasia finally steals a look at Warren. She stares at his wings, at first having been completely unable to focus on anything but the lost money.

                "Who's this?" Anastasia asks, with a bit more interest.

Annette takes one long look at her sister before tearing her eyes away, turning on her heels, and starting off. By the time she presses the walk button to cross the street, she still hasn't realized that Warren is following her. He stands a short ways behind her.

                "If it's any consolation, I don't think they'll be bothering you or your sister again," he says. Annette glances sideways at him, speechless.

                "You look like you need a drink."

 

                Flying with him again takes her mind off of the events that had just transpired. She sighs with relief upon entering her own apartment, her stomach still catching up with her from the sensation of being weightless. With slight embarrassment, she rushes to pick up her bra off the table where she had been sorting laundry not long ago. Warren whistles casually to himself. Annette wonders if he finds her living space to be pathetic. Compared to where he lived, it was nothing. But it wasn't bad. Wishing she had told him to just drop her somewhere in the city instead, she tries to pick up the mess of papers on the table. Warren laughs, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, watching her. Annette slowly stops, blushing, returning his gaze.

                "Hey, it's fine. You've just been through a ton of shit."

She's surprised at how soothing his voice sounds then.

                "Okay. Thank you _so_ much, for everything—really. But you don't have to…follow me anymore. I'll be fine."

                "You sure about that, toots?"

Annette rolls her eyes.

                "Didn't you say you thought no one would be coming after me anymore?"

Warren tilts his head to the side nonchalantly.

                "If I'm honest, I haven't had this much excitement in a while. Forgive me for not really wanting it to end just yet," he admits. Annette picks up a half empty mug of tea and starts towards the kitchen. She had to admit to herself, she _does_ feel safer with Warren around. He managed to save her butt, twice, not that she isn't sure Anastasia wouldn't have been able to handle the douche bags at the bus station earlier. When she turns from the sink to find Warren standing in the doorway, still watching her, she nearly smiles. He seemed to be very curious about her.

                "Listen, Gabriel, I'm gonna go shower and change. If you really want, you can take me out for a drink, but after that, you go home."

Annette leaves him with that, pushing past him in the doorway. She had meant to give him back his shirt, anyway.

 

                The bar he takes her to is oddly really nice. She watches him have a handful of shots, cheering to her not getting killed. She really starts to enjoy herself. And when Warren nearly flutters off his stool, Annette decides it's time for the day to end. The sun is setting as she walks with Warren out of the bar, calling for Uber to take him back to his place; she didn't trust him trying to fly inebriated, especially since he was trying to get her to let him fly her back to her own place. Like hell. The girl who picks them up doesn't stop asking questions about Warren's wings. He spends most of the time laughing, flirting dumbly with her in the back seat. Annette crosses her arms.

                "Wha?" Warren mumbles, "You know, it's _hard_ being this hot. The wings make it worse! I'm…" he looks her up and down slowly, "I'm sure you get that _all_ the time."

Despite blushing, Annette sticks her tongue at him. When she manages to get him in the elevator after he stops trying to take off in the lobby, she has to try and remember Warren's apartment number. She can't help smiling, even when he presses almost every button in the elevator, causing their trip to be longer than intended.

                Forcing him through his door and onto his couch, Annette wonders whether she should leave Warren alone. He was drunk, but not so much that she thought he'd puke in his sleep and choke to death. She comes to the realization that she doesn't want to be alone. Not after all that had just happened. She manages to get Warren to sit down on the couch. He sighs, placing a hand over his eyes.

                "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," he says seriously, "I mean, I'll pay for a cab to get you home. I know I can be an asshole."

                "That's definitely true," Annette sighs. She ends up sitting there moments too long, Warren peering through his fingers childishly, and laughing, surprised that she's still sitting there. He kicks off his shoes and grabs Annette, turning her over onto the couch.

                "This isn't going to happen. I'm sure you're used to it, but I'm not one of those girls," Annette grins.

                "One of those girls? Oh, come on. I like you. I liked you from the moment you punched me in my face."

The seriousness with which he says all of this makes him appear to be sobering up.

                "And anyway, I saved your life. I feel like you owe me at least one kiss."

Annette sighs, sitting up in her spot.

                "Please…don't leave. You don't have to sleep with me—I just don’t want you to go," he admits.

Annette inches closer to Warren, reaching for one of his wings. She'd been curious to touch them from the moment she found his feather lying on the floor.

                "I used to hate them," he says quietly, closing his eyes. He extends the wings forward a bit, further into Annette's hands. They are softer than she could have imagined, but sturdy. He doesn't move, barely breathing, just enjoying the sensation of her hands exploring him.

                "Well…I'd kill to have something like these," Annette admits, admiring him hard, almost jealously.

                "They wouldn't be useful to you."

                "Why?" she asks, pulling her hands back to herself and wrapping her arms around her knees.

                "You're afraid of heights," he says, opening his eyes and smirking. Annette blushes. She doesn't bother to interrupt the silence then, or lean away from Warren's head when he leans in slowly to kiss her. She knew that vision had a purpose.


End file.
